Gravestones
by Sakanda
Summary: In which Ash goes to visit his past, on a day marked black on his calendar. Slight GaryxAsh undertones


**Author:** Sakanda

**Title:** Gravestones

**Fandom:** Pokemon

**Pairing:** Uh, it's pretty much gen, but there's gary/ash if you want there to be

**Genre:** Reflection, warm fuzzies, angst/drama/sad?

**Rating:** PG

**Words:** 975

**Beta:** hydroskufl (on LJ)

**Notes:** BIRTHDAY FIIC YEEAH sorry if it isn't as good as Thrill ): haha I wanted the summary to be, In which Ash is old and tired. YOU'LL GET IT WHEN YOU READ IT haha btw sorry avi I ignored like half your betaing baaw I'm awful

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**Gravestones**

Ash is old now.

Ash is old, and tired, and he has crinkled laugh lines around his mouth, from all the adventures he had in his youth, and faint, but deep, worry lines in his forehead, from having to grow up and watch all his friends die before him.

Today, the sky is blue and cloudless, and the breeze is just picking up, and the Pidgey and the Spearow are tittering pleasantly; but Ash can't seem to warm that cold place he sometimes gets inside on days like this.

And so he is taking a walk: out the back door of his house, down through his yard, into the trees, through the forest, until he comes to a clearing - a small thing, yet it weighs so heavily on his mind - and he sits down at its opening and feels his worry lines deepen.

"Hey guys," he says, and his voice is heavy, too; heavy with the thoughts he woke up with this morning, heavy with the date on the calendar, heavy with that cold place, deep inside, that he just can't seem to warm up anymore. The graves look at him, expressionless and uncaring, and Ash lies to himself that maybe they are listening.

"Charizard is doing better, in case you were wondering. His arthritis is still pretty bad, and he's still not allowed to fly, but Nurse Joy said it's okay for him to walk around a bit now. He's still staying at the PokeCenter though." Ash goes quiet, and looks away from the stones.

The wind blows through the clearing, toying at his hair, weaving through the tree limbs, and blowing aside the long grass standing in front of the graves. Names are revealed, and Ash looks back, reading, remembering, aching, and wishing he didn't know that Charizard's name, too, would soon be joining them.

He stands up stiffly, bones cracking and joints sore, before dusting himself off and walking past the remains of his friends. He comes to stand at the end of the clearing. This grave is different - grass and weeds cleared away, stone polished. Ash bends down to touch it, despite the pain; his hand brushing softly against the granite. The date on it matches the one marked in black on Ash's calendar.

The trees rustle above him, dancing with the breeze. "Pikachu..." His voice is soft, as if he's afraid of disturbing something, and it becomes lost in the rustling. He pushes away the memories that come to his mind, sudden, unwanted, because rather than making him smile, they add to that cold place, knowing he'll never share them with Pikachu again. He often finds himself wondering what it would have been like if Pikachu had been a Ninetails - like that one he'd met with Brock and Misty - if Pikachu being the one to stay behind and stand at his grave would have been better.

For some reason, he doesn't find the thought comforting in the slightest.

Ash straightens, and closes his eyes. He can feel the wind whisking past him, the sun beating down between the wide branches of the trees, his muscles aching, his eyes stinging, and the unbelievable weight of being tired.

But he can't feel them.

No matter how much he tries to convince himself, they aren't there with him. Whether they're in a better place, or simply gone, they're not here with what little remains of them; not here with their gravestones, or his memories, or their bones laying in the ground.

Ash feels so incredibly old, and tired, and lonely, and his eyes are squeezed shut but he can't stop the small trickle of tears that slide down his face, that are brushed off by the wind. He just simply wants, wants a hundred nameless things he know he'll never have, because he understands - just as he finally understood on that day he found Charmander, abandoned and dying and loyal - that the world can be a cruel, cruel place.

"Ash." He hears slow, shuffling footsteps crossing the clearing, but he doesn't turn at the voice. He leans into the touch when he feels the hand placed on his shoulder. "Ash," his voice is soft, careful, worried, and Ash realizes suddenly that Gary must understand perfectly; after all, Umbreon's in this clearing too. "You should come home, lunch is ready."

Ash grins, faintly, eyes still closed, because he loves how after all these years, Gary still thinks he can manipulate him with food. He opens his mouth to retort, but the grumbling of his stomach interrupts him. He hears Gary laugh.

Ash reaches up, laying his hand over Gary's. He squeezes it gently, saying _I'm all right_, and _thank you _and a thousand other things he's never actually said to his rival, even after all these years, before turning towards him and grinning. "I bet I can beat you home."

Gary smirks in reply; the confident smirk that said he was going to win, no matter what, that made him look twelve again. "In your dreams. Your old, hobbling ass couldn't beat a slowpoke in a race."

Chuckling, Ash starts out of the clearing. "What does that make you then, a slowerpoke?" Gary snorts and catches up to him before punching him in the arm lightly.

"You're retarded." They both chortle, but walk slowly, side by side, out of the clearing, feeling the tug of memories. As they come out of the line of trees, the sunlight hits them, dazzling, and Ash looks over at Gary, who's still smiling slightly; face wrinkled and old but still exactly, infuriatingly Gary, and Ash feels that cold place deep inside warm up, just a little bit.

He walks back to the house with Gary, talking quietly, remembering, _healing_, and realizes belatedly that he's never actually been alone.

_fin_


End file.
